Coming Home to You
by MyImmortal329
Summary: Taking place directly after the events of Conquered, Carol and Daryl are home alone, and Carol's tired of fighting her feelings and pushing them aside.


Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.

Prompt by Anonymous on Tumblr.

Author's Note: I was prompted to write how I think Caryl will become canon on the show. While I have no way of knowing that, I can tell you that this scenario is one I've dreamed of and hoped for, and while I find it highly unlikely that the first episode of Season 6 will have this, I think it would be a perfect fit.

Coming Home to You

Carol could hear the showerhead sputtering as the water pressure fluctuated, and she paced in her bedroom at the sound of wet skin sliding against the shower wall. He'd come home. Just as all hell was breaking loose, he'd come home safe and sound with Aaron and a new friend, Morgan. Not much had been said after Pete's execution. Rick and Morgan had stared at one another for a long time as if trying to recognize one another in this new place, in this new era. She'd met Daryl's gaze, and he'd dipped his head, nodding to her, letting her know he was ok. She always looked to him when he returned, because she needed that assurance that he was ok, that all would be all right when she woke up in the morning.

She'd been the first to go home, ready to shed those clothes and that persona and just be herself in private for a while. He'd followed shortly thereafter, and she'd made him something to eat. They'd sat together in relative silence, she'd asked him how the trip went, and he'd told her about the man in the poncho and the walkers hanging from meat hooks in the backs of semis. Then she'd gone up for her shower, rinsing off not grime and blood but sweat and tears. She'd shivered under that warm stream of water, thinking back to that moment she'd stood in front of Pete with a knife at his neck, telling him how easy it would be to kill him. The idea of it now had her heart thundering in her chest, her blood boiling. She'd never been that person before. She'd never been so outwardly brave.

But Pete was the kind of man who didn't give a damn about disguises. He saw right into a person's eyes and saw what he wanted to. Weakness. Submissiveness. A victim. His victim. And she refused to be another man's victim. She'd threatened him, and now he was dead, and it wasn't like Ed's death. Pete was just another abusive asshole that got what he deserved. Perhaps, she thought, Jessie might feel something akin to what she'd felt driving that pickaxe through Ed's skull that hot, summer day at the quarry.

She'd retired to her room wearing nothing but a long t-shirt over her bare form, and a pair of white cotton panties. In her room at night, she stripped down to what was most comfortable after pretending to be someone she wasn't all day. But tonight, all she could think about as she lay in bed was him, of seeing his face, of feeling relieved that Pete was dead and Daryl was home safe. And she knew he'd leave again. He was always leaving, but he always came home. Still, there were always those nights in between his leaving in returning where she let her mind wander to the what ifs. What if he never came home? What if she never got the chance to open up to him, to tell him things she'd been holding inside for so long? What if?

And when she'd heard the unmistakable sound of his boots on the stairs, she'd sat up in bed, listening as he paused in front of her door. And then he'd retreated to the bathroom. She'd let out a slow breath and pulled back the sheets, moving to the window to look out over the town. There were still people gathered at the meeting place. The house was silent. They were alone for once, and she was suddenly gripping the windowsill, leaning out into the cool breeze, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, inhaling the faint scent of salt in the air.

Since then, she'd been pacing the room, trying to think of one good reason why she should stay shut up in her room and ignore the fact that he'd come inside and was showering and ready to make some sort of adjustment now that they were behind these walls. Safe. Well, not entirely safe, as Rick had demonstrated when he'd brought that walker to the meeting, but safe for now. Safe and sound.

When the water cut off, she moved to the door, waiting. She heard shuffling as he dressed, and she heard something drop and then his muted curse. Then the door creaked open, and she the soft scoot of his feet against the carpet. He was close, and it was now or never.

When she heard him moving closer to her door, she swallowed hard, gathered up all the courage she could muster at this time of night, and she opened the door, leaning against the door frame as he paused, gaze frozen on her smooth, bare legs. Her heart felt like it was knocking against her ribs, and he couldn't deny the bolt of desire that stuck her core when his gaze panned down her form, settling on her face as he swallowed his shock and took a step toward her. He was bare-chested in the dark, trails of water branching out down his chest from the dripping ends of his hair. A pair of grey sweats hung low on his hips, and Carol found herself taking in the view, enjoying every square inch of skin exposed to her sight.

There were a hundred things she wanted to say to him, _needed_ to say to him, but in this moment, all words were lost at the tip of her tongue, and she took a step backward into her room, and he closed the gap between them, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind him. She opened her mouth, failing to find words, to make a sound, and then his hands were in her hair, and his lips were moving over hers, and she was clawing at his back, panting against his mouth as he moved with her, moving against the wall, pressing her into it, clumsy against her as he steadied himself and gripped her shoulders in his hands.

"Daryl," she whispered, crying out softly as his hands moved down her ribs and over her hips, bunching her shirt in his hands, tugging enough to let her know he was all in this, and all she needed to do was give him the go ahead.

Her arms moved around his neck, pulling him into her, crying out as his tongue slid over the hollow of her throat. These things she'd tried to separate from herself, these feelings and desires, these wants and fantasies that she'd tucked deep down inside of herself since the prison fell, they were all screaming inside of her head, begging to be satisfied. She gasped as his hand moved up her shirt, brazenly skimming over her ribs, rounding around her breast, his thumb sliding over the nipple.

The night in Atlanta, she'd considered it, considered making a move in order to feel something, anything at all. But it wasn't right. It couldn't be. And now here they were, and things were so uncertain, and there was a good possibility that tomorrow, they might all be outside those walls and fighting to live again. But tonight there was this. His hands, his mouth, his tongue, and _God_ , the erection pressing against her thigh as he sucked her neck.

He began to move then, and before she knew what was happening, he was on his knees, and she had to see him. Her hand reached for the light switch, flicking it on, only to find him staring up at her in awe, like she was some fucking goddess. She swallowed, feeling her stomach twisting into knots, as he leaned forward then, pressing his face against her stomach, breathing her in. She threw her head back as she ran her fingers through his hair, relished the feel of his tongue skirting along her belly button, tasting her, making her skin sizzle and burn.

She'd never expected this. Not of him. He'd always been all grit and curse words and rough edges, calloused by a life of abuse and hard work to bury it all. His rough hands spread over her hips before he bunched her shirt up again, lifting it, and she tugged as he worked, pulling the shirt over her head, shivering as the cool air hit her breasts, making her hardened nipples ache for the warmth of his mouth.

Without her even asking, he obliged, bringing himself to his feet again, pulling her close, bringing his head down to her breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth. She cried out, arching into his mouth, biting her lip as he moved his attention to her other breast.

She felt the floor drop out from under her and then realized he had lifted her up, his broad shoulders tensing as he held her up, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and she moaned at the feeling of him hard against her, pressing against her through the fabric of his pants and her underwear. His mouth latched onto her breast again, and she ground her hips against him, squeezing his hips with her thighs, getting a growl out of him.

He turned then, putting her back to the room, kissing her then, tongue begging entrance into her mouth as he slid it along her lower lip. She opened up to him, groaning into his mouth as he walked them back toward the bed.

His eyes flew open when her hand moved down his chest, dipping into his pants, curling around his firm cock. He broke the kiss, panting, leaning his forehead against hers as her thumb grazed over the tip, collecting the drop of moisture she found there. He bit back a cry then, losing his grip on her waist, as her grip around his neck and cock tightened just a little bit more. But then his knees buckled, and they were both falling. The bed was soft and it smelled like her, and she felt him take a deep breath, his chest moving against hers, hands gliding over her thighs, fingers tugging at the edges of her panties. She let go of him then, licking her lips when she watched his cock bob there in front of his abs, and she felt a rush of heat. Her head swam, and her muscles clenched as she thought of taking him in, of feeling him stretching her.

Her legs were trembling then, and she bit her lip, face flushing as he pulled the last garment off of her and rested his hands on her knees, spreading her bare for him. She moaned, running her hand down her chest, over her stomach and down between her legs, the most instinctual thing when she was in a state like this. He stay there, kneeling between her legs, watching as her fingers worked between her legs, and she kept her eyes fixed on his face, watching the way his lips parted and his tongue flicked out all pink and wet.

He moved over her then, pulling himself out of his pants, working as quickly as he could to rid himself of the offending garment, sliding it down one leg and then the other before kicking it off the bed unceremoniously. Carol watched as he turned his attention back to her, sighing as he stroked down her ribs with his fingertips. She arched her back then, gripping the sheets between her fingers. His mouth was on her stomach then, and she spread her legs a little further, feeling his chin settle against her hip.

She'd imagined it a hundred times over, before, at the prison, back when things seemed somewhat normal. She'd wanted to go to him so many nights, muffling cries of frustrated pleasure into her pillow as she touched herself and prayed he would come to her, as if by some psychic pull. She'd spent many nights just wanting to be near him, finding little excuses to see him between runs to bring more survivors back behind the prison walls or his little hunting expeditions. Time with Daryl had been limited at best, and she'd craved it even more since they'd arrived in Alexandria. But he was always gone, always off recruiting. But not now. Now he was here. He was with her. And he wanted her the way she wanted him. The world outside was gone, and nothing existed beyond these four walls; beyond the feel of his mouth against her thigh, sucking and biting, claiming her as his.

His breath was hot against her, and he wasted no time, burying his face against her, tasting her, using his tongue on her, tasting her in a way she'd never known. Ed had never done this for her, always told her it was disgusting, that she should be embarrassed to even ask for it.

Her chest flushed red as Daryl's fingertips pressed into her hips, holding her down against the bed as he plunged his tongue into her. He moved one hand over, circling her clit, applying a little pressure, feeling the way her body shook at the new sensation, and her moans of pleasure spurred him on as he rocked his hips against the mattress.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, hips rocking against his face as he pleased her. It wasn't long before he began to stroke her, loving her with his fingers and his tongue at the same time, and it brought her over the edge faster than either of them expected. She caught herself as she began to cry out, biting her lip to muffle the sounds, and he moved up her body, kissing her neck and her shoulder.

"S'alright," he whispered, pressing kisses along her jaw. "Don't gotta hold back with me." He stroked her cheek, and she looked at him then, and every last word she'd held back in the last year or so danced at the tip of her tongue. She wanted to tell him everything, wanted him to know every last thought she'd had, wanted him to know why she was the way she was, why she'd done the things she'd done, and she knew, looking into those ocean blues, that he would accept her no matter what. But there would be time for that later.

Her hands moved along his arms and broad shoulders, gently sliding over his back, feeling the scars at her fingertips, soothing over them as she kissed his jaw and his neck. His back went rigid as she explored him, and she pressed her lips against his, a silent promise that she would never turn away from him, that he was more than a bad childhood and a walking memory of what it was to carry the weight of your troubles. He was everything to her, and in this world, who didn't have scars?

She shifted her hips then, letting him know what she needed, and he rested his forehead against her shoulder for a moment, breathing heavily, preparing himself for this next step, a step that was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

"Open your eyes," she whispered, gently pushing at his shoulder to move him back. "Daryl." He pulled back then, opening his eyes, looking down in hers, seeing right into her, seeing that smile drift across her face as her hands moved down his stomach, teasing along his hips as he slid against her, slick and warm. "It's ok." She kissed his forehead then, running her fingers through his hair. "Please. It's ok." She nodded, needing him to hear it, to see it, to feel that this was right, and it was ok. Whatever happened tomorrow, they had this night, and they could make it what they needed.

He moved over her again, pressing his mouth against hers, letting her taste herself on his lips, hand skimming up her thigh, bringing her leg around his hip. Closer.

She whimpered and he pushed into her, filling her slowly, stretching her in a way she had never known. He pulled back, hand moving over her cheek, wiping away the tears that slid from her eyes as she squeezed them shut.

"Ok?" he asked softly, sliding his hand down her stomach and between her thighs, gently stroking her as he barely moved his hips. She nodded, squeezing his shoulders for purchase.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Good." She opened her eyes then, gasping softly as she looked into his eyes. Beautiful and terrifying, she saw the depth of what he was feeling as his gaze ghosted over hers, and his mouth parted. He leaned down, kissing her then as he began to move, and she moved her legs to curl around his hips, taking him in as far as she could.

He took his time, and for as rough and calloused his hands had been, he was gentle, sweet, completely unexpected. She buried her face against his shoulder as he made love to her. That's what it was. They loved one another. They'd never said it, but he was the closest thing she'd had to a best friend in her entire life. He'd done more for her in the short time they'd known each other than Ed had done for her in their entire marriage. Such a waste that it had taken her so long to feel this way. And it was intoxicating.

His hand moved over her thigh and over her ass, pulling her closer. He peppered her shoulder and clavicle with kisses and warm breaths, picking up his pace just enough to have her moaning, biting her lip in that beautiful way that she did. And her walls began to clench around him, he held his breath, watching the way her eyelids fluttered closed, and her chest heaved as the blush spread over her skin.

"Open your eyes," he murmured, kissing her forehead and then her nose before sucking her lip into his mouth. "Please. Wanna see you when you come." His words pushed her over the edge, and her eyes blew wide open. She gripped his shoulders and tightened her legs around him as the orgasm took her over. She let out a choked sob, and he stared down into her face as he moved inside of her, stroking her through it.

Her eyes closed again, as he rocked against her, and she circled her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He moaned softly into her mouth as she opened up to him, and her walls clenched around him again, triggering his own fall over the edge. He panted against her neck as he came, and she gasped at the sensation, collapsing back against the mattress as he buried his face against her neck, his hot breath making her skin tingle.

He continued to move inside of her until his arms collapsed under him, and he was completely spent. He pulled out of her then, strengthening his arms around her as he rolled onto his back. She smiled, kissing his chin as he lay atop him, staring down at him, pushing the hair out of his face. He smiled up at her then, his hands finding purchase on her back, pulling her closer. She sighed, resting her forehead against his neck as his hands moved up her back.

"Should we talk?" Daryl murmured quietly, as Carol trailed her fingers slowly over his chest.

"We should," she whispered. "But not tonight. Tomorrow." She pressed her lips against his. "Ok?" He nodded, sliding his hand over her cheek, gently cupping her face.

"Ok," he said with a little nod, arching up to kiss her. And the rest of the night was theirs.


End file.
